


Mandrake And Moonlight

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assignment in the Forbidden Forest ends on an unexpected note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mandrake And Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.  
> **Pairing(s):** Ron/Pansy (mention of Charlie/Draco and Ginny/Blaise)  
> **Warnings:** AU-ish (i.e. not DH-compliant), explicit het sex (participants are over the age of consent), some snark.

They advance deeper into the dark, daunting forest and all Ron can think is that this is a very bad idea, possibly the worst ever.

He isn't merely referring to the fact that they've completely strayed off the path, either.

No, this whole venture has been an exercise in daftness right from the moment go.

At least it isn't about _House Unity_ for a change. It's simply a case of not many Slytherins having enrolled at Hogwarts to finish their education, and so said Slytherins are paired up with Gryffindors for assorted projects, whether either party likes it or not.

Which brings us to why he's currently walking through the Forbidden Forest with Pansy _bloody_ Parkinson, of all possible people.

"Stop!" she yells, soon followed by: "Oh. Lovely. You just trod on it, you utter cretin! Now we'll have to look elsewhere for that stupid plant."

"Er," he says, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, I-I didn't notice."

"No, you've never been particularly adept at seeing what's right in front of your nose, have you?" she says airily. She picks a mushroom and carefully puts it in the small jar she just pulled out of her pocket. "At least there isn't any damage to this one."

Ron crosses his arms. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She frowns. "Which part?"

"The one where I supposedly can't see what's right in front of my nose."

"Well," she says, rising to her feet again and quirking an eyebrow at him. "Take your brother Charlie, for instance."

"What about Charlie?"

"Ah." Pansy smiles sweetly. "I'm willing to wager that you never knew about his little… indiscretion with my former betrothed, did you?"

"His… _what_?"

"Do I have to spell it out?" She smirks. "Silly me. Of course I do. Let me put it this way: It's no secret that Charlie likes dragons, but not many people are aware that he harbours a particular fondness for a certain blond one."

"Y-You're not referring to _Malfoy_, are you?" Ron blurts out, paling slightly at the thought.

"The one and only."

"Y-You're not honestly suggesting tha-that Charlie is shagging Malfoy?"

"Not as we speak, he isn't, I shouldn't think," Pansy replies, examining a nail. To her relief, it isn't dirty, or worse, broken. "But I could tell you a couple of stories about Draco's Bulgarian holiday that would make your hair curl… Well, more than it already does. What is it with Gryffindors and impossible coiffures anyway? I never see any of the people in _my_ House having such problems…"

Ron shakes his head. _Lies, all lies._ Even if Charlie was gay—and really, that'd be pushing the limits of probability pretty far already—no way on earth would he touch Draco Malfoy. Not even with a ten-foot pole with a rusty spike at the end. Not in a million years.

"Don't you believe me?" She laughs. "Next you'll be telling me you don't know about your sister spending so much quality time with the Headboy lately either."

"W-What?"

"Portraits talk, Weasley. They have to pass the time somehow." She frowns, and adds as an afterthought, "Of course, you've got to hand it to Ginny. She could do far worse than Blaise. He's rich, smart, handsome, and unlike your dragon-taming brother, he also knows how to appreciate a good woman when he sees one."

Ron clenches his fists. "Bloody hell! Keep your poisonous trap shut!" he yells, loud enough to wake the dead—or considering where they are, the undead.

She places her hands on her hips. "Or else?" she challenges.

He grits his teeth. The girl really _is_ insufferable. He wonders how Hermione puts up with her in Herbology. He wonders how anyone puts up with her. It's no surprise that Malfoy was always hiding in the Quidditch shed when she was around.

"No? Very well, then. That leaves the Mandrake. Do try not to trample the next one we come across, won't you?"

She sets off again, and with gritted teeth, Ron follows on her heel.

He's well aware that they're getting farther and farther away from Hogwarts. Hopefully they'll find their way back through the darkness. He doesn't fancy the prospect of spending the entire night out here, amongst the ghosts and ghouls and wolves and spiders, especially those big, hairy spiders…

"Ouch!"

He looks up just in time to see Pansy trip.

He suppresses the urge to laugh. They do say that pride comes before the fall, and in this case even literally. Well, it serves the little wench right.

Ron hesitates for a moment, considering whether to help her up, when suddenly a sweet, musky scent permeates his nostrils. He supposes it must be produced by a night-blooming flower, even though he can't spot any flowers anywhere; only twigs, leaves and oddly shaped weeds.

He turns his attention back to Parkinson. She is gazing up at him. Her eyes are wide and her lips unusually red in the silvery glow of the moon.

Ron blinks as he realises, with a jolt, that she looks rather… _attractive_ from this angle.

He quickly shakes his head. It must be a trick of the light, or he's simply getting tired.

Yes, that'll be it. His eyesight is becoming affected by how knackered he is.

"Well, Weasley, aren't you going to help me up?" she asks, her tone bossy and shrill as always.

Ron sighs. Anyone with even half a brain would leave her lying there, but that's not exactly an option in his case.

If his Mum were to ever find out that he'd refused to help a girl, even a girl as stuck-up as Parkinson, she'd never let him hear the end of it. She raised him better than that, you see.

He half-heartedly holds out his hand, and the next thing he knows is that he is lying on the ground and half on top of Pansy.

A piercing shriek rings through the night air. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Weasley?"

He opens his mouth to utter a quick apology, but then he notices that the strange scent is back and even stronger than before. He scrunches up his nose. "Hey, what's that odd smell?"

"I beg your pardon?" Pansy snaps. "Odd smell? How dare you! I'll have you know that my perfume is not only French, but also expensive."

"No, I," he says quickly, almost stumbling over his words. "I wasn't er—talking about you. It's like… flowers or something."

"Flowers. Right." She gives him a stern look. She doesn't spot any flowers in the near vicinity. She doesn't even notice that smell he's talking about. She sighs. "Only a Gryffindor would mention imaginary flora at a time like this. Still, I suppose things could always be worse. Maybe I should count my blessings that it's only you I'm stuck with. Longbottom would probably stop to smell every single plant out here and bounce around like a child in a sodding toy shop every time he saw a familiar weed."

She gets up, takes a few steps down the path, and says over her shoulder, "Well, come on. We haven't all night!"

Ron nods slowly. "Yeah. All right."

Funny, he thinks, how she is becoming more appealing by the second. It's as though he is noticing her features for the first time; her dark hair, that tiny nose, and those big brown eyes that are rather mesmerising when they're not glaring daggers at him… She no longer looks anything like that ugly pug from first and second year. It's just a pity he can't see her shape properly with those school robes.

Ron gulps and gets a strong urge to smack himself. What the devil is he thinking, eyeing up Pansy Parkinson? This is stupid, absurd, completely unheard of, and yet…

"Why are you still sitting there like a sack of potatoes, Weasley? The Mandrake isn't going to pick itself, you know."

"Er, yeah. Of course," he mutters and jumps to his feet.

She looks him up and down, and frowns. "Are you all right?"

"Why?" he asks, sounding a tad more defensive than he'd like.

"You seem a bit out of sorts," she informs him, "and your left eyebrow is twitching something fierce."

"Oh? Is it?" He shrugs in what he hopes is a casual manner. "I'm just tired, I expect. It's been a long day."

He has never been a convincing liar, and he suspects he isn't fooling her one bit. She grew up amongst experienced deceivers, after all, and no doubt she can outsmart quite a few of them by now.

"We can go to bed as soon as we've completed this assignment," she announces matter-of-factly. "Now come along."

Ron swallows hard. Why are his palms suddenly sweaty? What has got into him? He knows full well that she didn't mean it like _that_, and he should stop these ridiculous thoughts now, and come to his senses before he makes an even bigger fool of himself.

"Here it is," she announces a good ten minutes later; ten minutes filled with the strangest silence and the worst confusion he has ever experienced in his life.

"This is the right one, isn't it, Weasley? At first glance, it looks like it is, but Herbology has never been my strongest subject."

He blinks. "Huh?"

She rolls her eyes. "Mandrake. What else? Get out your Herbology guide and check if the picture matches the plant, would you?"

Too caught up in his confusion and ever-growing embarrassment, Ron decides not to argue.

He consults the textbook, and it turns out that she's correct. They've found what they were looking for. They can finally leave the blasted forest. He should start jumping for joy.

He doesn't move a muscle, however. He can't. As if rooted to the spot, he watches her as she picks the leaves carefully, one by one, as per the Professor's instructions.

She gets up again and looks him squarely in the eye. "What's the matter? Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face?"

He swallows hard. "No. I—"

"Yes?"

He's incapable of lying, and remaining silent would probably get him yelled at, or even hexed, so that only leaves him with one option: the painful, awkward truth.

"I was just thinking, Parkinson, that you're um, actually quite pretty."

She blinks—four times—before yelling, "You think I'm… _what_?"

Ron flinches. "Pretty. Er, it might be just the moon, though."

"Just the moon?" She laughs without humour. "Sweet Circe, if that was supposed to be a compliment, Weasley, I do suggest you try a little harder."

She turns to walk away, but he grabs her arm, halting her where she stands. "Wait!"

"Why?"

He doesn't know why he does what he does next, but in one swift move, he pulls her to him, flush against his body, and kisses her on the mouth. It's a strange sort of kiss—part tenderness, part desperation—and it does nothing to lessen his confusion.

At the back of his mind, he's convinced that she's going to hex him for this—yes, any minute now—or at the very least kick him in the dangly bits.

He's astonished when she does neither, but instead responds eagerly, like this is some kind of challenge she is wordlessly accepting.

When they finally separate, both of them breathing heavily, she looks as stunned as he feels, but he's pleased to note, also far from disinterested.

"A little tip for future reference," she tells him, licking her lips. "There are better ways to get into a girl's knickers than by irritating the living daylights out of her."

"I—" he begins, but she cuts him off by kissing him again, hungrily.

Who is he to complain? He lets his hands roam down her back, and he pulls her closer, as close to him as he possibly can. His clothed erection presses against her stomach.

She's slimmer than he expected. Her breasts are small and firm as far as he can tell. He wishes he could see them—kiss every inch of them—but getting naked isn't an option here, in the middle of these dark woods. What if some dangerous creature were to jump out from behind the bushes? They'd have to make a run for it, and that might get tricky, not to mention awkward as hell.

"Maybe," he suggests in a whisper, "we should take this back to the castle?"

"Not a chance," she whispers back, her warm breath tickling his ear. "You've got me all hot and bothered, Weasley. Finish what you started. Or are you scared? All talk and no action?"

He gulps. He isn't used to girls being forward. Even Lavender, despite her reputation to the contrary, was never this bold.

He still has no complaints, however.

He grabs her right wrist, leads her to the nearest tree and shoves her up against it, almost bruising her chin as it bangs against the thick trunk.

He's somewhat taken aback by his own behaviour. This isn't like him at all, normally.

Nothing about tonight is like him, really, when he stops to think about it. Perhaps the moon truly is to blame somehow.

He opens his mouth to apologise, but Pansy's words silence him.

"Well, well, well," she says, sounding genuinely impressed. "Who'd have thought you'd have it in you?"

He shakes his head. "That's an odd thing to say. You don't know the first thing about me, Parkinson."

"Show me then," she replies simply.

It's all the encouragement he needs. His right hand travels underneath her robes and inside her knickers. He grins when he realises that she is as turned on as he is.

"Yes, I'll show you all right, Parkinson."

With his left hand, he undoes the trousers he decided to wear under his robes tonight, and then he takes a deep breath.

A rational part of him can't help thinking that this is completely wrong. He'll probably end up regretting it as soon as they're done, too.

Still, it's too late to change his mind now; assuming he even wants to.

He moves two fingers in and out of her, and uses his thumb to rub her clit.

She grabs the tree with both hands to steady herself, and lets out a deep moan.

He swallows thickly, and picks up the pace.

More moans reverberate through the night air, one more enticing than the other, until she says, her tone shaky and ragged, "What are you waiting for, Weasley? Sunrise? Christmas? Shag me already."

Ron's cock twitches in anticipation, but he decides to tease her, just a little, just for a moment. It's the least she deserves after all her bitchiness today.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to ask me nicely, Parkinson," he says with a sly grin.

"W-What?" she blurts out.

He slowly licks the shell of her ear. "Ask. Me. Nicely."

As his hand stills, she starts to rock her hips, shamelessly, wantonly pushing back and forth against his fingers. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Shag me, Weasley. Please."

"It's Ron."

"What?"

"My name is Ron."

"Bloody hell," she mutters under her breath. "Stupid self-righteous Gryffindors." A sharp intake of breath, and she gasps out, "Fuck me, Ron."

His grin turns devious. "See, you only had to ask."

She groans when he enters her, and she moves with him as soon as he begins to thrust.

"Mmmm, yes," she says. "Harder!"

Who is he to refuse?

Somewhere at the back of his mind, it suddenly occurs to him that anyone could walk by and see them, but in this very moment, he can't bring himself to mind.

On the contrary, perhaps getting caught would make this experience even more exciting.

He thrusts faster, harder, deeper, letting her moans and instructions guide him, until she throws her head back and screams.

Her intense climax is almost enough to trigger his own orgasm. Two more thrusts are all it takes before he's gasping loudly and spilling himself inside her.

Coming down from his peak, he rests his forehead between her shoulder blades. He is out of breath and slightly dizzy, but mostly he feels calm and content, with no regrets about what just happened.

He doesn't speak as he slips out of her, and neither does she.

He wipes his right hand on his robe, and then rakes it through her hair.

The dark locks are thick and soft. For the first time tonight, he notices her perfume, and oddly enough, he can no longer smell those strange flowers from before.

He takes a step backwards, and turns around. He utters a simple cleaning spell and sets his clothing to right. He wonders whether he should have asked Pansy about—

No. She probably takes the same potion Ginny does.

_Ginny…_

Funny how life turns out sometimes. Ron had been convinced that Harry was the one his sister kept sneaking off to see, and truth be told, he wasn't terribly happy about it either.

Knowing that she's actually involved with Zabini bothers him a lot less.

Zabini isn't too bad—for a Slytherin—and at least this way if the relationship ends badly, no long-term friendships will be at stake, and Ron won't get caught in the crossfire between his best mate and his sister.

It's a huge load off his mind.

Pansy coughs pointedly. "We should head back," she says.

He turns to face her once more and nods. He's surprised to see her looking so pristine again; not one hair out of place and not a single crease in her robes. No one would ever suspect she'd just been shagged against a tree.

"You have some moss stuck in your hair," she tells him, and carefully reaches up to remove the offending item.

"Er, thanks," he mutters, and feels a furious blush colour his face. That's certainly unexpected. He was a lot less bashful a good ten minutes ago.

She gives him a saucy wink, turns on her heel and starts striding back in the direction of the castle.

He quickly follows, unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face.

*****

Two weeks later, quite by accident, Ron learns about an endangered plant with strong aphrodisiacal properties. It sends out spores on nights when the moon is full and a good romantic match is nearby. The Forbidden Forest is the only place in Britain where this plant still thrives.

Ron decides not to tell his girlfriend about his discovery, however. It is far more preferable that she continues to believe that he found the courage to seduce her all on his own.

After all, he has his reputation as a brave Gryffindor to live up to.


End file.
